


Tea and Sorcery

by NeonGreenGummieBears



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonGreenGummieBears/pseuds/NeonGreenGummieBears
Summary: Eight years ago, Evelyn Summerbrook was the picture of high society- beautiful, well-bred, and the top of her class at the kingdom's most prestigious magical academy. Then, right before graduation, something happened. No one knows what, or how, or why, but at the end of it all two people were dead and Evelyn had disappeared.When her father falls fatally ill her mother reignites the search for her missing daughter with surprising success. Evelyn never planned to return home, and is more certain than ever that she doesn't want to stay. Suddenly everyone wants to know the truth about that night, when all Evelyn has been doing is trying to forget. But how long can you run from your past?





	Tea and Sorcery

Evie was trying hard not to stare at the woman in pink, but it was difficult when said woman was obviously trying so very hard not to stare at Evie.  
It was also hard because she stood out quite a bit, even in as eclectic a town as Spritesbury. She had very yellow hair curled into very intentional ringletts that bounced almost supernaturally every time she as much as turned her head. Evie hadn’t seen her walk in, but when she’d been standing at the counter placing her order (and quite pointedly looking everywhere but at Evie herself) the curls had bounced riotously with her every breath. It was almost comically ridiculous. Not quite as ridiculous, however, as her outfit- a sharp looking blazer with a knee length pencil skirt, both in a vibrant shade of pink. The purse on the chair beside her was in the shape of a teapot, and Evie wondered if that was her every-day bag or if she’d dressed especially for the occasion.  
She certainly didn’t seem like the kind of person who frequented tea shops, if her general discomfort was any indication. Evie dipped into the back to retrieve a tray of scones from the oven and caught the woman attempting to covertly spy on her over her cup. She was only attempting to be covert, however, in that she had yet to take a sip of her drink and was also making intense eye contact with a spot right over Evie’s left shoulder. As soon as Evie looked up, the woman immediately looked away.  
Leaning down, Evie began to arrange the scones in the front display, while watching the woman in pink through the glass. Did she know her from somewhere? She looked vaguely familiar somehow, but Evie hoped she wasn’t. This woman wasn’t a regular, and she was almost positive that she wasn’t from Spritesbury at all. Spritesbury was a bustling little city full of commerce and conversation, usually in the form of gossip. Evie had lived here for the past eight years, had met various friends and acquaintances from behind the tea shop counter, and had eavesdropped on more customers than she could keep track of. She was positive that if this strange woman had been in town for more than a day she would have heard it from somewhere.  
That was the troubling part though. If Evie knew her at all, it would have to have been from before, and she absolutely couldn’t have that. She’d tried very hard to leave her past behind, and everyone else there with it. She couldn’t afford to have it track her down now in a monstrously pink business suit.  
She was probably just being crazy though. After all, if she had met this woman before, even nearly a decade ago, what were the odds that she wouldn’t remember? She was positive she wouldn’t be forgetting this encounter any time soon, and they’d hardly even spoken. To date, their only interaction had been the woman ordering a boring, plain black tea that was entirely wrong for her, and Evie serving her a vanilla chai instead. The one time she’d looked Evie in the face had been born purely from confusion, not able to understand why she hadn’t been given the drink she’d requested.  
That was another sign that she’d never been here before- no regular ever questioned Evie’s judgement and most no longer even bothered to place an order, simply requesting “ a tea” in a variety of sizes. Anyone who had ever been in this shop for two minutes knew that it was run by witches- witches who knew their tea. And the best of them was Evie. Every cup she served, whether it was what you ordered or not, was exactly the perfect tea for the moment. People could confuse their desires, order one thing when what they really wanted was something else, but Evie wouldn’t let them. Customers were very rarely right, after all, and just because a customer misunderstood themselves was no excuse for providing them with a lackluster tea experience. Evie simply took their choice out of it. Almost nobody ever minded.  
The woman in pink hadn’t seemed to mind exactly, but she hadn’t understood either and had yet to try a sip. It wasn’t as if it was going to go cold - Evie always saw to that- but it seemed a waste to leave it sitting there. Sometimes she even lifted it to her face to try and hide behind and would it have been so difficult to just tip it toward her mouth a little? It smelled good, really the woman would love it if she’d stop being so obtuse and just drink a sip.  
She was seated on the far side of the shop, at a little round table situated inside a charming bay window, aptly named as it looked out over Mermaid Bay. Through the panes Evie could see the sunlight sparkling off the crystal blue water, the neat little rows of white sails bobbing in the tide. It was the best seat in the entire tea shop, and Evie found herself wanting to shake the woman in pink until she drank her perfect tea, appreciated her perfect view, and enjoyed herself. Or until she told her where she was from, why she was here, and what she wanted from Evie. Evie was reasonable, she could substitute answers for genuine enjoyment.  
The bell over the door chimed, and she looked up to greet Mr. Norris, the elderly gentleman who ran the used bookstore down the road. The was thin and wrinkled, like a sheet left in the dryer for too long, but he had a warm smile and his eyes crinkled every time they saw her. He came in at least once a day, usually around lunch while his daughter Laura manned the store. He always ordered a fruit plate, with water, and Evie always served him a chocolate croissant and some green tea with honey. It was a routine she rather enjoyed.  
“Good morning Mr. Norris.” She smiled as he approached. “Have you got any new books lately? Is there anything good?”  
He scoffed, but he was smiling as he did it. “Oh bah, they’re all good. There’s no such thing as a bad book”  
“I beg to differ. I’ve read quite a few that were truly atrocious. Like that biography from the wizard who lived a year as a squirrel. Have you ever read an entire book on thoughts from a squirrel? They’re not a riveting as one might imagine.”  
“There’s a lesson in there somewhere, you just aren’t looking close enough.”  
“And I really don’t want to. Now what can I get you?”  
“Oh, just a plate of fruit if you could dear, and some water. It’s important to think of one’s health at my age.”  
She nodded politely as she took his money, and set the kettle on as he sat down with a magazine. When she looked back, the woman in pink was staring again, head tilted in concentration, eyes locked onto Evie’s face. She quickly turned back toward the window, curls bouncing wildly, and lifted her teacup, seemingly content to just hold it ineffectually. Evie huffed, irritated.  
“Evie, dear.”  
Evie turned to face Camille, the elderly witch who owned the tea shop, as she descended the stairs from her apartment above. The two of them lived there together, had ever since Camille had first hired her eight years ago. Evie had never been sure why Camille had been looking for help, because the woman was as healthy and spry as Evie herself and more than capable of managing the shop. Still, that advertisement had been the best thing to ever happen to Evie, and so she wasn’t about to complain.  
Evie raised an eyebrow imploring as she stirred honey into Mr. Norris’ tea.  
“I don’t want to alarm you, but I believe you’re being watched.”  
Evie just hummed, nodding slightly. “ I am. I’m just not sure why.”  
“Is it a matter for concern, do you think?” she asked, as one might inquire about the weather. Evie shook her head.  
“Hm, no. Probably not anyway. I’m not sure what she’s up to but she’s far too obvious to be involved in any kind of subterfuge so it can’t be anything serious.” When she looked up from her stirring, She caught Camille peeking out to where Mr. Norris was sitting. She gestured towards the teacup. “Would you like to bring this out to him? Get a closer look?”  
Camille batted at her arm, but her face was flushed prettily like a much younger woman and Evie couldn’t help but crack a smile. Mrs. Norris had passed away shortly after Evie had arrived in town and though Camille had mourned she also seemed more than willing to help the older man recover from the loss.  
“I’ve told you before you naughty girl, the two of us are just friends. We were classmates at The Academy years ago. That’s all there is to it.” Evie stomach shriveled a bit at the thought of The Academy, but Camille continued before she could dwell. The older woman’s face turned thoughtful as she looked at the woman in pink. “You don’t suppose that could be it do you?”  
“Could be what?”  
“If her attentions could be, you know, romantically inclined.”  
Evie snorted back a laugh, looking back to where the woman sat staring at the cup in her hands. Her eyes chanced a glance towards Evie and then, finding Evie’s own looking back, darted away like a startled mouse. Her ears were red.  
Evie shook her head. She wasn’t unaware of her own appearance- she knew she was quite pretty. Dark green eyes, clear pale skin, bright red hair that tumbled in loose, careless curls down her back. She had a light smattering of freckles across her ears of all places, but her lips were plush and blushy pink. She’d drawn more than her fair share of amorous looks throughout her life, was well aware of what they felt like, and this felt different. When this woman looked at her she didn’t feel naked, like those pink manicured hands were stroking her body. She felt more like a puzzle, a mystery that the woman couldn’t figure out. The woman seemed more confused than anything. Frankly, it was a relief.  
Camille looked slightly disappointed, as if she’d been hoping for a love story to unfold before her over an untouched cup of vanilla chai. Truth be told, despite a wealth of possibilities it had been quite a while since Evie had bothered to entertain any romantic inclinations. She knew Camille worried, but Camille didn’t know about her school days. She’d done more than enough entertaining in her days at The Academy, enough for a lifetime, but that was then and this was now. She was a different person then, Evelyn Summerbrook, top of her class and belle of every ball. When one was young and wealthy, the world laid out before her like a buffet, it was easy to take and take and take, to sample everything offered to her at every opportunity.  
Being Evie was different. Evie was just as pretty, and just as aware of it. But Evie wasn’t as hungry. Evie had seen the world, had tasted it’s offerings and found them bitter. Evie was content in her corner of the world, quiet and safe. Happy. Evie wasn’t willing to risk her security for excitement, even if she did sometimes think back on the girl who would have, without a second thought.  
“Well Dear, she clearly wants something. Why couldn’t it be romantic?”  
Evie just shook her head, handing Camille Mr. Norris’s teacup.  
“ Go on now, Mr. Norris has waited long enough.”  
“Evie-”  
She handed her his chocolate croissant.  
“Hurry, his tea’s getting cold.”  
“No it isn’t”  
Still, she made her way across the room with his tea and his pastry, and Evie knew that the two of them would be chatting for some time. She’d seen this more than enough time to know how it would go. Let Camille be entertained by her own love story- Evie was fine on her own.  
Still, it did pose the question: What exactly did the very pink woman want? She glanced at the clock; business was awfully slow today. She probably wouldn’t have another customer any time soon. Dipping back behind the counter she loaded a few of the fresh vanilla scones onto a plate and made her way to where the woman was staring determinedly into her cup. It was still steaming slightly. The woman seemed fascinated. She was staring into the tea so intently that she startled when the scones appeared on the table before her. Tea sloshed over the edge of the cup, splattering onto the table. Possibly onto her skirt.  
“Oh!”  
Evie slid into the seat across from her, taking a moment to appreciate the lovely view. Somebody ought to. When she looked back to the woman, she was frozen, eyes wide, except for her lightly bouncing hair. Evie pushed the plate marginally closer, as if luring a skittish deer.  
“Good afternoon,” she said lightly, when it appeared that the woman wasn’t going to.  
“I,” the woman blinked, appearing to come back to herself. “Oh, good afternoon. Can I um, can I help you?”  
“You can drink this tea,” Evie replied briskly, gesturing toward the untouched - if slightly jostled- vanilla chai. “And you can look out this window at these lovely little sailboats. And then you can tell me why you’ve been watching me.” When the woman’s wide eyes darted quickly toward the window Evie huffed again. “Oh stop that. I’ve already caught you a million times. If you’re trying to be discreet you’re terrible at it.”  
The woman cringed a little, bit obediently picked up her teacup. She didn’t drink it though, just looked into the liquid again. “I didn’t order this, though.”  
Evie waved her away. “What does that matter? It’s perfect, you’ll love it.”  
The woman leaned in, lowering her voice like telling a secret. “But, I don’t really like tea.”  
“You’ll like this one. Now drink your tea and tell me what someone who dislikes tea is doing in a tea shop of all places.”  
The woman bit her ridiculously pink lip, nibbled delicately at a scone, flushed a bit at being called out. Across the room, near the magazine rack, Camille and Mr. Norris chatted amiably. Folding her arms, Evie leaned back in her chair and waited.  
When the woman finally looked back at Evie she was staring harder than ever. Apparently having decided to go all in, she tilted her head, squinting her eyes a bit. She wasn’t looking at Evie so much as examining her as one might a befuddling specimen in a museum. Evie might have found it disconcerting if she wasn’t so curious herself. The woman’s blatant scrutiny opened Evie up to do the same.  
Close up, the woman looked even stranger. She was pretty enough, Evie supposed, except that everything beautiful about her was exaggerated and obviously the result of magic. Her wide eyes weren’t just blue, but extra blue. Her skin wasn’t clear, but unnaturally flawless, almost poreless. Suddenly her overly blonde hair and gravity defying ringlets made more sense; they looked fake because they were fake. This woman seemed like a porcelain doll, like the worst of every debutante that Evelyn had come out into society with. It wasn’t unheard of for witches to alter their physical appearance, but rarely was it done to such an extent, or at least not so obviously. She wondered if that was where the familiarity came from - if Evie didn’t know her specifically, but simply knew girls like her.  
Finally, the woman leaned forward a bit more. “I’m sorry, it’s just. It’s you, isn’t it? Evelyn Summerbrook?”  
Evie felt as if the floor beneath her had just given way- or maybe it was just that she wished it to. She badly wanted to disappear into thin air and once upon a time she might have, but she didn’t. She didn’t do that anymore. She discerned the perfect tea order for customers, the ideal snack. She kept food perfectly warm or cold, whatever the dish demanded. She spelled in good feelings, optimism, happiness, calm. Larger magic, flashy magic, that was for Evelyn and Evelyn wasn’t here. Only now this woman was looking at her intently and insisting that she was.  
After eight years, Evelyn had been found.  
Evie wasn’t sure how the woman had interpreted her stunned silence, but it seemed to encourage her to continue, unaware of Evie’s panic. She supposed that meant she’d kept her face straight. She did so like to maintain a straight face.  
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t even introduce myself. It’s me, Brioney. Brioney Mayfield, from The Academy. It’s alright if you don’t remember, I was a year behind you in school. We didn’t talk much, and it was such an awfully long time ago.”  
All at once, recognition slammed into her, and she wondered how she had managed to forget Brioney. It wasn’t as if they had been especially close, like Brioney had said they rarely spoke. Evie couldn’t remember ever having paid the girl any special attention. No, she had known Brioney because everyone had known Brioney. Brioney had caused a stir at The Academy by the sheer matter of her existence- Brioney had been a transfer student.  
The Academy didn’t have transfer students. At least, not normally.  
The Pendlebrook Academy for Magical Advancement, known colloquially as The Academy, was the oldest and most renowned institution for magical education in the country. A boarding school founded over a thousand years ago, students started at age eleven and continued their enrollment until graduation at seventeen. Though open to anyone regardless of social class, it was unheard of for the children of the upper crust to obtain their education anywhere else. It served as part educational system and part finishing school, teaching math and sciences, alongside spellwork and elocution. Anyone who was anyone was already established in the student body their first year. Tuition was funded through the magical division of the government, free for it’s students, transportation provided at no charge. There was no reason for any student who wished to attend not to, and so there was never any reason for students to transfer five years in like Brioney had.  
She’d looked different then, Evie remembered, and maybe that’s why she hadn’t recognized her immediately. Aside from being nine years older, the Brioney Evie had known at school had been a lot more subdued. Her hair had been longer then, and wavy, blonde but not as blinding. It had actually been a darker, dirty blonde. She’d shown up on her first day with braided pigtails hanging down her back and a little brown dress with a peter pan collar. She’d had buck teeth then, a little like a bunny- Evie could remember hearing some of the other girls laughing about it. She appeared to have fixed those since then, as her teeth now sat in straight, perfect rows and seemed to gleam in the light. Magic, Evie supposed, like everything else.  
It wasn’t as if Evie had any real moral obligation against using magic to improve one’s looks, it was just that it seemed like an awfully silly waste of an exceptional supernatural power. Then again, she supposed, maybe she was only able to think that way because she’d never had any complaints about her own physical appearance. Maybe if she’d had bunny teeth or dull hair she would have magiced them prettier too.  
Still, looking at Brioney was grating on her eyes. She was smiling brightly now- if Evie remembered correctly she always had- but there were slight lines around her eyes that made it look a little strained. She looked like a sweet, bright and colorful, but artificial. A sweet that was waiting for a response.  
Evie made a non-committal humming noise, grabbing a scone of her own. She too could procrastinate with baked goods. She chewed for a moment before swallowing her bite and giving a little nod.  
“I remember you,” she replied finally. Brioney seemed to brighten.  
“Evelyn! It really is you. Oh, I just knew it was. I can’t believe it, it’s been so long. Have you really been here this whole time?”  
Her voice, naturally high pitched, had gone shrill with excitement. Evie immediately hated everything. What on Earth was she doing here? Evie had been here for eight years without even the slightest recognition. How that this hyper pink monstrosity managed to ruin that streak?  
“What do you want from me,” she blurted, cutting Brioney off mid-sentence. “Why are you here?”  
For a moment Brioney’s smile seemed to dip, before she remembered to pull it back.  
“I- looking for you. Evelyn, no one’s heard anything about you for years. You just disappeared. Your parents are frantic.”  
No. No, her parents had been frantic, eight years ago when she’d first left. Or maybe they hadn’t been, Evie wasn’t sure. She hadn’t looked back long enough to check. At any rate, she’d left them a note on her dresser. It hadn’t been long, but it ought to have been enough to reassure them that she hadn’t been kidnapped or something. That she’d wanted to go, even if they hadn’t understood why. Anyway, that had been years ago. There wasn’t any reason for them to still be searching now. It would have been one thing if she’d truly disappeared without a word, without a sound. If there had been any chance of foul play, that maybe something terrible had happened and that she wanted to be found. If they were looking for a body even, for closure. But she’d been sure to leave a note. She hadn’t wanted a search, and she didn’t appreciate being found now.  
“They’re not. They shouldn’t be. Why would they be worried now?”  
“Well, that is. I’m sure it’s nothing too terrible, really. But your father is just- he’s a bit sick is all. It’s worrying your mother. She’s contacted the police and the newspapers and just, well. Just everyone. She really wants to find you.”  
A bit sick. Evie stared hard at the lines of strain around Brioney’s eyes, her mouth. She was really forcing that perky smile now. Evie could only imagine why. Her mother wouldn’t have been worried about her father having a cold, or a stomach bug. She wouldn’t have been worried about a broken arm or leg, or even a rib. That wouldn’t have been enough to start a country-wide search for her missing daughter. No, the only reason she would do that, Evie knew, was if things were more than just a bit bad. She could only understand this sort of desperation if her mother worried that maybe Evie might not be able to see him ever again.  
Evie wasn’t immediately sure that she wanted to, even while her heart constricted in her chest. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her father but it had always been a bit of a challenge and over the years she’d found herself missing and blaming him in turn. It was almost nauseating to be faced with the idea of his death. Part of her , that lonely little part that had followed him around as a child, that had sat quietly in the same room in hopes of earning his attention, rebelled at the idea of never receiving what it craved. The other part that hated him a little, the part that hated herself for craving his acknowledgement, that blamed him for everything that had happened to her, flickered at the idea that he could disappear. That he could die and take her inner conflict with him.  
But would he? What if he just disappeared into the wind and left her alone with the knot of her feelings, forever conflicted with no sense of resolution?  
“She wants to find me,” she repeated slowly, “because my father is a bit sick.”  
Brioney seemed at a loss for words and instead just stretched her taffy smile across her face. It seemed almost vulgar now, given the situation.  
“Um, maybe a bit more than a bit. But, I found you! Me, somehow, after all this time. Which is great! I mean, not because he’s poorly but because I- someone- was able to tell you that he was. So that you can go home now, and see him. That is,” she bit her lip, spoke carefully as she continued. “You are going to go back, aren’t you?” It was as if it just occurred to her that maybe the girl who had run away eight years ago, who hadn’t bothered to return even for a visit in almost a decade, might not want to run back now that she had been found. Like maybe life wasn’t an elaborate game of hide and seek that Brioney could just win. When she continued, she seemed to choose her words carefully. “That is, whatever it was that made you just...leave, back then. Surely it doesn’t matter anymore. Not now, what with your father and all.”  
“What about my father? He’s just a bit sick after all.”  
Brioney cringed into herself like a disappointed souffle. It would have been funny, in any other situation. She clutched her teapot purse closer to her, like a child might hold a teddy bear. For once she dropped her irritating plastic smile.  
“Evelyn,” she said softly, “I wasn’t- I know we aren’t close, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. I thought it might be better to hear it from someone else, your mother maybe. But the truth is you father, he really isn’t well at all. It’s his heart I think. It’s all over the newspapers, oh, but maybe you don’t get those all the way out here. Your mother’s consulted dozens of physicians but none of them seem very hopeful at all. You father- he’s dying Evelyn. It’s not good.”  
Evelyn scoffed. It was the most sincere Brioney had seemed since they’d started talking and suddenly Evie hated it. She’d wanted to know who the woman was and what she wanted, and now that she knew she wished she didn’t. She’d spent too long cultivating an entirely new life to have some annoying underclassman from her Academy days dig her up and scoop her out. She felt nauseated and dizzy, she wanted Brioney gone.  
“I’ve got customers,” she said woodenly, standing, despite the fact that she clearly didn’t. She had one, Mr. Norris, who was now looking at her concerned. Camille was too, she noticed. She wondered how long they’d been watching. Had they heard any of it? She didn’t think so. “I should go.”  
“Evelyn,” Brioney said, standing too. “Evelyn, I’ve got an extra train ticket. It was for- well, for someone else. I didn’t really think I’d find you. I mean, there are so many other people looking, they’re all so much better at this than me but. But that’s not important now. Come back with me.”  
“How much?”  
Brioney blinked, startled by the sudden turn in the conversation.  
“What?”  
“How much do you get from her if you drag me back? From my mother?”  
“Evelyn, that’s not-”  
“How. Much.”  
She bit her lip again. “Quite a bit actually. But that’s not the important part!”  
No, it wouldn’t be, she imagined. The important part would be the bragging rights. Brioney had said it herself, there were tons of people out looking for her. People with higher skills and qualifications. Brioney hadn’t expected to find her here, which meant that probably nobody else had expected Brioney of all people to find her either. She wondered where Brioney worked that she was included in this search. Wondered what kind of accolades she would get for being the first person to track down the elusive Evelyn Summerbrook. A raise at least, but probably a promotion. Maybe even some kind of award, and certainly whatever monetary incentive her mother was offering. It would probably make Brioney’s life.  
“But Evelyn, that’s not why I’m here, I swear.” She looked as earnest as her plastic-perfect face possibly could underneath all the magical modifications. Her curls bounced along with her words, like they were supporting her words with all their might. Evie had the inane urge to laugh. “Is there anything I can do? Anything at all.”  
“There is actually.”  
“Yes?”  
“Drink your fucking tea.”  
With that she turned and walked up the stairs, with as much composure as she could muster.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody, assuming anyone reads this. This is my first time posting in forever, but this was my NaNoWriMo project this year and I'd really like to finish it. I have kind of a love-hate relationship with this one since it's the first thing I've written in a long time and I feel rusty as an author. Also it looks ridiculous because I can't for the life of me figure out how to format writing on AO3. I swear I know how to use paragraphs, but if anyone wants to tell me how to KEEP them there after I post it, please do.  
> As always, constructive criticism is appreciated, but please be civil. Is anyone here old enough to remember when purely negative reviews were called "flames?" I remember. Pepridge Farm remembers.   
> Thanks you.


End file.
